


Second Helpings and Second Chances

by roebling



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Belly Kink, Depression, Drunkenness, Eating Disorders, F/M, Food Kink, Future Fic, Measuring and Numbers, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Acceptance, Stuffing, Vomiting, Weight Gain, Weight Issues, Weight Shaming, tight clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 21:57:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10795548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roebling/pseuds/roebling
Summary: Himchan's always had to be careful about his diet, lest he put on weight. After a bad breakup that's entirely his fault, he finds himself comfort eating and getting soft again. As the number on the scale climbs, the way he looks at his body -- and his happiness -- starts to change.





	Second Helpings and Second Chances

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KatsGGM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatsGGM/gifts).



> This is my half of a little exchange I did with [KatsGGM](http://archiveofourown.org/users/KatsGGM/pseuds/KatsGGM), based on her request and featuring her OC Su Siyong :) I really enjoyed writing this, although I know it turned out a bit different than her prompt! 
> 
> This story does not contain sexually explicit material, but it is weight gain fetish fiction. If that is not something that is appealing to you, please hit the back button in your browser! It also features a character who initially has a very unhealthy relationship with his body and weight, and mentions past disordered eating. If anything related to eating, food, or weight is triggering for you, please proceed with caution. If you'd like more information about contents, message me.

The breakup hits Himchan harder than he expects, considering it's entirely his fault. He knows it, too. Deep down inside, he knows he acted like a selfish, inconsiderate asshole. He’s scum. He isn’t worthy of being ground under Siyong’s shoe. Not to put too fine a point on it.

He realizes right away what a terrible mistake he's made, and what a miserable excuse for a boyfriend he's been. Siyong is amazing, beautiful, talented: too good for him really. He’d been too ashamed to admit they were dating just because he was concerned what some lowlife netizens would say. He misses her, is the thing. He really misses her. He sinks as low as messaging Siyong and asking if they can meet and talk, but she doesn't even reply.

He’s not surprised. She’s right not to respond. He messed up bigtime.

It's understandable he's feeling a little down about himself. It's understandable that he would console himself with nights out with Yongguk (who is always willing to listen to him whine, and doesn't judge him too harshly) and with weekends at his parents' house. It's expected that, newly single, he'd want to have a little bit of fun and take it easy.

What's not expected is when, a month or so after the breakup, he goes to pull on his favorite pair of jeans and realizes he can't do up the button. There's a few centimeters of plush pale belly in the way.

The thing is, Himchan has always gained weight easily. The slightest lapse of diligence puts him at risk of pudging up. When he was an idol, he subsisted on a meager diet of coffee and chicken and got enough exercise that he managed to stay fairly slim. During his army service, he actually gotten into pretty good shape -- even kinda almost had abs -- but he's been out of the army for eighteen months and BAP is on hiatus while the Daehyun and Youngjae do their service, and Himchan is getting soft again.

The scale reveals the scope of the damage. He's back up to 75 kg, which means he's gained a solid five kilos in the last month. That's a lot in such a short period. Standing in his bathroom in only boxer shorts, he is amazed he didn't realize it sooner because it's really obvious. His belly is soft again. His thighs look big. His cheeks are round.

Shit.

It stings all the worse because he knows, deep down, he would have gone public with his relationship with Siyong if she's just you know, been a little bit thinner. A little closer to what society says a beautiful woman should look like. She was beautiful and smart and talented, and he'd been too much of a weasel to stand by her because she was a few kilos heavier than most actresses. 

He’d been scared to have his name linked to the ‘chubby actress’ and now he's on the way to being a fatass himself again.

Staring at his puffy-faced reflection in the mirror, he scowls. "You're a hypocrite, Kim Himchan. And you don't deserve her."

The thing is Himchan has always hated dieting. He endured it because he had to during his B.A.P days, but now? He's got a few variety show appearances lined up, a semi-steady gig as the host of a weekly entertainment news program, but he's not an idol anymore, and nobody expects him to go on stage and sing and dance in leather pants.

Thank god. He’s too old for that shit anyway.

So he just ... doesn't diet. It seems like too much work when he’s already feeling so tired. Eating what he likes is a hell of a lot easier than dieting would be. When his sister invites him out for brunch with her family on Saturday morning, he gets fried chicken and biscuits. The chicken is moist and the batter is crispy with a hint of spice. The plate is covered in a generous puddle of greasy, rich gravy. He sops up every drop of it with the buttery biscuits, and then finishes off his little niece's waffle. His sister gives him a look, but she doesn’t say anything. He gets sweet, extravagant drinks at Starbucks in the morning instead of his standard iced coffee with no milk because they just taste better. When out for barbecue with friends, he stops worrying about how many servings he’s had, stops worrying about how much beer he’s drunk. He eats and drinks his fill, until his belly is swollen and aching.

He knows he's overdoing it, but he's spent the last ten years worrying about every calorie that passed his lips. It's really fucking nice to just not worry for a little while. He’ll get back on his diet one of these days. 

He's at the KBS building preparing to film a guest spot on a variety program about traditional Korean music. The clothes the stylist picked out for him today are a little snug. The pants are tight around his waist, and the shirt pulls over his round belly. Luckily, he's got a sweater to wear over top that will disguise the most of the damage.

He's got a long time before his segment films. The waiting room is cold and boring. He only had a bagel for breakfast, and he's feeling a little peaky.

"Hey," he says to the PA, "I'm going to run out for a sec. I'll be back, okay?"

She narrows her eyes. "Your call time is at three. You need to be back here by then."

"I know," he says. "I got it! I'm a professional."

She rolls her eyes, like she's heard that line before, and she probably has.

Himchan takes the elevator down and walks out through the big lobby into a cold early spring day. Himchan sticks his hands in the pocket of his coat. He has a destination in mind, and thankfully it's not too far. There's a Burger King just a few blocks away across the park. He walks quickly. The streets are crowded with people on their lunch, and he knows if he's not back at the station by three it's his neck on the line. It's not like he's destitute, by any means, but the extra money he pulls in with these variety gigs helps an awful lot.

The line at the Burger King isn't bad. Himchan is overheated and a little sweaty by the time he gets there. He's never been the most physically fit guy and whatever endurance he built up during his military service has been eroded by months of the easy life. His arm brushes the bulge of his belly ... Well, that can't help either.

He's pretty hungry now, he realizes. He shouldn't have rushed so much this morning. Of course a bagel isn't going to tide him over all day. He stares at the menu as the queue shuffles along. He can't make up his mind between the Creamy Shrimp Whopper and the Garlic Steak burger.

In the end, he orders both.

"Will that be all?" the cashier asks in a bored tone.

"Uh," Himchan says, hurriedly. "Let me get a sweet potato fry, a large regular fry, a 10 piece nugget, and a large soda."

Her eyes widen in shock, but she's professional enough not to comment on his order. It's still a little embarrassing, but he's not going to be home until late and filming always makes him hungry.

Still, when his order comes up, he's kind of surprised at how much food it is. He hefts his tray and heads to a table in the back of the restaurant -- he doesn't need anyone gawking at him while he eats. He glances at his phone. It's 2:00, which means he needs to eat pretty quickly. Luckily, he's good at that.

He tackles the Creamy Shrimp Whopper first. This is a new menu item, and he's been wanting to try it ever since he first saw the commercials. It's ... interesting. The burger is typical mediocre Burger King fare, but the shrimp are sweet and firm. The cream sauce is greasy, leaving an oily aftertaste in his mouth. He finishes it off in five or six big bites, washing it down with big gulps of soda. He helps himself to a few nuggets, dipping them in sweet barbecue sauce. It's fast food, so of course they're not that good, but he likes the salty crispy texture. He dips the sweet potato fries in the barbecue sauce as well. They're a little dry, but not bad really.

The thing about food is that Himchan really doesn't care if it's good. Greasy, disgusting fast food burgers are fine by him. He likes it all. He just likes eating, and rushed as he is now, he gets a little sloppy. He stuffs fries in five at a time. He opens his mouth as wide as he can to take a big bite of his second burger. He swallows down the painfully sweet Pepsi and hides a discreet belch behind his hand.

As he's finishing off the Garlic Steak Burger one slippery caramelized onion slides out of the little triangle of bun that's left and lands right on the bulge of Himchan's belly. Shit! The grease soaks into the white fabric instantly, even though he's quick to pick off the errant onion and pop it in his mouth. 

Shit. Shit. At least he’s got the sweater to cover it up. He can’t go on television with a grease stain on his shirt. He’s already going to catch hell from the stylist about this.

He sadly pops a few last fries in his mouth, a last nugget or two, and then all that’s left is a wasteland of greasy wrappers.

He leans back Oh boy. He overdid it a little bit, maybe. His belly aches from how much he’s eaten. He finish the last of his soda, hoping that will cut through the heavy glutted feeling, but it doesn’t help.

Himchan piles up the wrappers on his tray. It certainly looks like a lot, all heaped up like that. A lot of garbage, just like all the garbage he just stuffed his face with. He shuffles his chair back, and he's surprised to look down and see how round and huge his belly looks.

He can't go on air like this. He's so full that there are little peeks of white soft belly visible between the gaping buttons of his shirt. He looks like a fat pig. 

Shit.

It's twenty to three, and he needs to get back. There's no time to try to find something new to wear. All he can hope is the sweater is generous enough to hide his belly.

He groans as he gets to his feet. His gut feels sloshy and massive, absolutely packed full of food. He dumps his garbage and pulls his coat as tightly around himself as he can.

It's an agonizing slog back to the KBS building. He feels like everyone he passes is staring at him, even though he knows that can’t be true. He's not in the most rational state of mind. All he can think about his how full and sleepy he feels, and how appearing alert and awake and charming on camera is the last thing in the world he wants to do right now.

Thankfully, the lobby is empty, and he gets his own elevator back up to the fifteenth floor. He thinks he's home free, but then the elevator stops on the third floor. Himchan tries to button his coat. He sucks in his belly, and slips one button into the hole but he feels like a sausage squeezed into a much too tight casing. That's not going to work. He unbuttons the coat and hopes nobody important is getting on.

He is staring at his feet, so he doesn't realize who his elevator companion is at first. He sees a pair of expensive heels, strong looking ankles, beautifully curved calves, a pink pencil skirt over thighs just a bit wider than most would find attractive.

Oh no. He knows those thighs. 

It's Su Siyong.

He folds his arms over his chest, and looks up. "Hello, Su-su." He coughs. "Uh, it's good to see you."

Her eyes narrow in confusion. "Himchan?"

He smiles in what he hopes is a charming way. "Come on, Su-su. It hasn't been that long."

Her cheeks color a little. It looks good on her. "I didn't recognize you," she says. There's a note of bitterness in her voice that makes him nervous. "You've put on some weight."

He frowns. He knows he's been a little lax with his diet, but he hasn't put on that much. Has he?

"Uh. I had ramen last night. I'm just swollen."

She stares pointedly at his belly.“Must have been a lot of ramen."

He swallows, and tries to pull his coat over his belly. "I've put on a couple of pounds, maybe. I ... uh. I was trying to be like you, actually. You know. Stop worrying about my diet. Enjoying my food a bit."

Her face, so soft and pretty, takes on a dangerous cast as she narrows her eyes. "You are so stupid," she says in an icy voice. "'Enjoying my food?' Is that what you really think of me?" She gestures at herself -- at her generous bosom, at the slight curve of her belly. "You think I'm like this because I 'enjoy my food'?"

Himchan doesn't get it. He knows she does enjoy her food. Why is she acting like he said something awful? "I just ... I always admired that you let yourself eat like a normal person in spite of being...."

"A normal person?" Her voice is dangerously cold now. "Himchan, I _am_ a normal person. I'm a normal person who is _fat_." He's not sure what his face looks like, but it must be something else. "Yeah, that's right. I can say it. I'm _fat_ and I'm not ashamed of it. I don't have to lie about eating ramen and being swollen." She pokes him right in the belly, hard. Her finger sinks into his soft gut.

He's surprised at the sudden, intense rush of pleasure he feels.

"Would you believe I was almost thinking of returning your call?" She shakes her head. "I'm such an idiot. Listen, Himchan, you're a sweet guy, but why don't you get a clue and figure out how to stop hating yourself? I think you'd be a lot happier."

The elevator slides to a halt on floor fourteen. Siyong gives him one last, disgusted look and gets off.

Himchan sags back against the cold elevator wall, finally relaxing his belly. It sags forward, testing the strength of his buttons.

The stylist shoves a navy sweater at him as he walks to through the door. It's dark enough to disguise the worst of his overindulgence, but it's also so tight he can see the imprint of his buttons through the fabric. He glances at himself in the mirror -- he looks like he's swallowed a bowling ball. He still feels so full and swollen, all achey with how much he's eaten.

He brings his hand to his mouth and lets out a long suppressed belch.

He is tired and distracted during filming, unable to stop thinking about Siyong and sure that everyone is whispering about how fat he's gotten, even though he's sitting behind a desk (he's not sure who to thank for that, but he wants to thank someone).

It's not his finest moment. He's so grateful to finally get back into the dressing room where he can change out of the restrictive dress shirt and pants and into his slightly more comfortable jeans and tee shirt. He's surprised at how tight the jeans feel, biting into his belly.

Siyong is right. He really has gotten fat.

He feels so awful that he stops at the grocery store on the way home and picks up a carton of ice cream. He's not an idiot -- he knows that eating ice cream when you're worried about your weight doesn't exactly make sense -- but he doesn't honestly have the energy to care. It's sweet and delicious and it makes him feel better, one spoonful at a time.

The next few months are not good. They're among the most not good Himchan's ever had. Probably the only other time in his life he remembers being as depressed is when he broke his wrist during the One Shot promotions. It had been so hard to sit at home and watch the others perform, but at least then he'd known that he'd heal soon and be able to rejoin them. At least he'd had daily updates from the kids about everything that was going on.

Now, he feels old and lonely and useless.

To add insult to injury, his hosting gig is cancelled. Through no fault of his own, the network assures him, and he thinks it's probably true. They're just revamping a lot of their programing, and the entertainment news program he hosted is being replaced by a baking competition show. He gets a few offers for variety appearances, but for the most part he turns them down. He's not feeling up to being cheerful and jovial on television.

He doesn’t totally give up, at least not at first. The week after he sees Siyong at the studio he pulls on a pair of old sweatpants and his baggiest tee shirt and laces up his old trainers. He doesn't want to show his face at the gym in his current condition so he just heads down to Hangang Park, figuring he’ll go for a run. 

It's a lot harder than he remembers. He jogs slowly for a few hundred meters. He can feel his belly jiggle. He can feel the extra weight in his thighs and his ass. His sweatpants slide down the curve of his gutand he keeps tugging them back up. It's a hot day, and he gets sweaty and red-faced. The park is full of beautiful athletic people running and cycling, and Himchan feels conspicuously old and fat and slow.

Still, he keeps it up for a few days and tries to watch what he eats (only one hamburger for lunch, a small butter pecan Frappucino instead of a large). It's crushing when he steps on the scale at the end of that week and it reads 79.8.

He hasn't lost anything. He's put on a half a kilo, even while depriving himself and torturing himself with daily runs. In the mirror, he looks rounder and pudgier than ever. His belly looks big and soft even when it's not full of food, and even his chest is starting to soften up a little bit too. His cheeks are fuller. His thighs are huge.

For a wild moment, he considers going on a starvation diet. This was his old ace in the hole back in his idol days. Need to drop a few pounds fast? Well, just stop eating. That always did the trick. But he's older now, and the thought of living on a sweet potato a day is enough to make him almost want to cry.

It's no use. He's destined to be a fat ass. He might as well just give up.

He tosses his sneakers in the back of his closet and orders a few pairs of larger sweatpants off of the internet.

He spends the next few weeks indulging his sorrows like never before. He sleeps late and ignores messages from his manager. It’s perverse, he knows, but the worse he feels the hungrier he feels. He spends most of the day on the couch, reading and watching dramas and working his way through bags of chips, boxes of cookies, and packages of candy.

At night, he places big orders of fast food, crossing his fingers that the patient food service workers taking his order think he’s got several very hungry house guests. He turns the volume up on the television when the delivery person arrives, and opens the door only a crack. After he’s alone, he sets his haul out on the coffee table and eats until he’s full and almost ready to burst. Slice after slice of pizza. Giant bowls of jjajangmyeon. Box after box of greasy fried chicken. It’s never too much. There’s something wonderful and awful about the heavy achy feeling of being truly stuffed. His belly is so big and round and demands so much of his attention that he can’t even worry about all the other stuff in his life that he’s messed up so badly. And sometimes when he’s rubbing the heel of his palm into the most aching swollen part of his gut, it hurts so much it feels almost like pleasure. 

He’s not sure what to make of that. 

He is lying in bed at ten o’clock one morning a few months after his ill-fated encounter with Siyong when he gets a message from Yongguk.

_I know you’re not ignoring me Kim Himchan. You’re coming out with us tonight, aren’t you?_

Himchan throws his head back against the pillow and groans. He _has_ been ignoring Yongguk, and he doesn’t feel good about it. He just keeps telling himself he needs a little more time before he can face his best friend. But tonight … he’s not sure if Yongguk’s going to let him blow off tonight. Tonight they’re going out -- the six of them. Daehyun and Youngjae by some miracle are both on leave for the weekend, and they have plans to go out for barbecue and beer before they head back to their respective posts. 

It was, Himchan remembers with some chagrin, his idea. Months ago, before he’d even broken up with Siyong, when life has seemed so much brighter, he’d proposed this B.A.P reunion.

Idiot. He’s an idiot. He buries his head under a pillow.

The phone buzzes again.

_I can tell you read the message, you know_

Yongguk is too fucking smug for his own good sometimes.

_I’m not an idiot, Bbang. I’ll be there tonight. Don’t worry._

Himchan closes his eyes and groans. He really really doesn’t want to do this, but if he’s going to he needs to get up and try to make himself semi-presentable.

His fingers, flung across the bed in frustration, brush something cool and smooth. Oh. It’s the box of Chocopies he’d been munching on before Yongguk’s text derailed his morning. Still halfway full.He pops one of the little chocolate pucks out of the package and into his mouth. No point in letting them go to waste. He needs some cheering up, anyway. 

An hour later Himchan is standing in the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. Freshly showered, his hair is dripping down his back. It’s longer than he’s ever worn it. He really needs a cut. There’s a carpet of patchy stubble on his chin and cheeks. He’s been lazy about shaving. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t go out, right? He’s pale, even for him, and there are dark circles under his eyes. And, of course, he’s fat.

He’s the heaviest he’s ever been as an adult -- he hasn’t stepped on the scale yet, but that will just be confirmation of an obvious truth.He’s big. A few months of guilty sloth and gluttony have added a thick layer of pudge to his already generous form. His features are softer, and he’s got a permanent double chin. He’s got actual man boobs now, plump and round. They lead down to soft bumpers of fat under each arm. His arms, speaking of, are really thick. He lifts one, and gives it an experimental shimmy. A little flabby wing of flesh under his bicep jiggles. Ugh. His belly has taken the brunt of the damage. It’s big, hanging soft and wobbly over his waistband. He can grab a whole handful of jiggly belly fat now. There are stretch marks on his love handles, and around his belly button. His thighs are dimpled. His ass, from what little he can glimpse in the mirror, is huge. Even his knees look fat.

He hadn’t even realized knees could look fat.

He closes his eyes and takes a step forward onto the scale.

He opens one eye, and then the other. He has to lean forward a little to see over the curve of his belly.

92.4 kilograms.

Shit. Shit. Fuck.

He’s not just the biggest he’s ever been as an adult. He’s barely 5 kilos from the biggest he’s _ever_ been. He’d sworn he’d never let himself get that fat again, but here he is. He digs his fingers into his pudgy overhang. He’s made a big, fat pig of himself and he’s going to have to go out and see the guys. He’s going to have to see Daehyun and Youngjae. _Shit_. They’re never going to let him hear the end of this.

Nothing to do but make the best of a bad situation.

He feels a little better once he shaved and brushes his hair. He’s still a handsome guy, and even the twenty kilos he’s put on can’t totally disguise that. He smiles, and it’s the same charming smile he remembers. Almost. Except for the double chin.  
Opening his closet crushes any hint of self-confidence he’s been able to muster. Oh god. _Nothing_ is going to fit. He pulls out a pair of black pants he remembers being a little bit looser than his others, maybe. They get stuck around his big pale thighs. He tries his luck with a pair of baggy, unfashionable jeans he’s had for years, and he can pull those up at least. They’re tight around his calves, though, and the seams are going to be imprinted into his thighs. The zipper doesn’t even come close to doing up. He lies on his back on his bed and tries to pack as much belly fat as he can under the flaps, but nope. Not happening. Not even close

He settles, finally, on a pair of black athletic pants that he can just pull on and an XXL black sweatshirt. The clothes are forgiving and he doesn’t look like a total fat ass. He pulls on a baseball cap and some sunglasses and heads out.

He gets a haircut first. That’s safer. He just goes to some hole in the wall place, not his usual salon. He doesn’t want to explain his absence or his gut. The ajusshi who does his hair is old fashioned and gruff and doesn’t seem to care at all what Himchan looks like. That’s just fine with him. Short on the sides and with a smart part, it really doesn’t look bad. Himchan is pleased when he inspects the man’s work in the mirror. It’s not awful. It makes him feel a little bit better.

He’s much less enthusiastic about trying to find a pair of pants that fit. He remembers this from when he was a kid. Shopping isn’t much fun when you don’t fit in even the largest size in the store. The only difference now is that he has a little more money.

He goes to the Gentleman’s section of a very nice department store and wanders around aimlessly for a while. He’s not even sure what size he is, and he’s not sure he wants to find out. He fingers a beautiful soft double-breasted wool jacket and a pair of fine cotton slacks with pleats. Fat guy clothes, but these aren’t ugly and sloppy. He’s almost worked up the nerve to take a pair of pants into the dressing room when someone clears their throat behind him.

“Can I help you?”

The speaker is an older woman, about his mother’s age, expensively dressed. Only her tasteful nametag reveals that she’s a clerk.

“Uh,” he says. “Um. No. I was just going to …” He makes a vague motion with the pants. “I’m trying to find something to wear to a party tonight.”

She smiles, kind but firm. “I don’t think you want to wear those,” she says. “You want something younger, a bit trendier. A handsome young guy like yourself shouldn’t dress like a grandfather, right?”

Himchan knows she’s just flattering a customer to make a purchase, but still, it’s nice to hear. “Um. Yeah. I …” He swallows. “I’ve put on a bit of weight lately, and I seem to have outgrown all of my favorite stores.” He smiles, hoping she’ll do him the favor of laughing at his joke.

She tuts. “Don’t worry about that,” she says, kindly. “Let’s figure out your size and we’ll a few nice things picked out for you.”

Himchan, cheeks red, follows her into a dressing room. He strips down to his boxers as she asks, and oh god. He looks even more enormous with mirrors on all sides. He’s a big, flabby pale blob. 

The clerk is the picture of professionalism, though. She takes out a cloth measuring tape and for one awful moment he’s afraid it won’t be big enough to span his massive girth … But it is. More than large enough.This is a fat guy store, and they’re prepared. 

“101 centimeters,” she mutters under her breath. 

There was a time when he fit into a 75 cm waist. Now he’s 100 centimeters around. That’s a lot bigger. She keeps measuring him and all the numbers are so much bigger than they used to be. They’d been measured all the time for stage outfits and other clothes, and Himchan always knew his numbers. An increase of a centimeter or two was a warning bell. Now, he’s blown past all those warnings, and the numbers are almost obscene.

“Let me bring you a few things,” the clerk says, when she’s done measuring him.“I know what you kids find fashionable.” She pats him affectionately on the shoulder.

He waits in the dressing room, under the unforgiving glare of the bright lights, confronted with his reflection on all sides. There’s a whole army of fat Himchans.They exhale in unison, setting off a wobbly avalanche of belly flesh. He puts a hand on his belly. It is really soft. It’s not like Himchan’s never known any other fat guys, of course, but a lot of them are the big, thick, solid type of fat guy – beer guts and disproportionately skinny legs. Himchan’s all soft, pliable pudge. He’s almost a little pear shaped, with the way his hips flare out and then curve back in. He would be, anyway, if his love handles weren’t so huge. He’s just big all over.

But, maybe … just maybe … it’s not quite as bad as he’d imagined? There was something about hearing that number that flipped some switch in his brain. He isn’t _just_ fat. He’s big – a really big guy. He has mass and girth and substance. He’s still not wild about being a fat pig, of course, but there’s something about being being that _big_ that he kind of likes.

The clerk comes back with armfuls of clothing. She hands them in to Himchan one at a time, and makes him show her each outfit.

He looks a lot better wearing clothes that actually fit. The first outfit he tries on consists of a pair of soft grey trousers that are big enough that he can do them up over his stomach, and a sweater that doesn’t cling to every lump and roll on his body. It looks … not bad. The kind clerk thinks so too, but she doesn’t let him off the hook that easily. He’s barely back in the dressing room before she’s handing in another outfit.

He leaves an hour later with two shopping bags brimming full. He has new pants and tee shirts, a new jacket and several nice sweaters, all in large enough sizes that he can wear them without feeling like he’s being squeezed half to death.

He doesn’t go totally overboard, of course, because he will lose the weight. Eventually. One day.

Right?

Later that night, he’s standing in front of the door where he’s supposed to meet the guys and his nerves are acting up again. He’s wearing a pair of new jeans and a tee shirt with a sweater over it. In his apartment when he’d admired himself in the mirror, he’d actually thought he looked pretty good. Big and solid. Manly, almost, which wasn’t something Himchan was used to feeling.

Now, though, he’s thinking about the last time he saw Yongguk, and how he’d been ten kilos lighter. He’s thinking about the last time he saw Youngjae and Daehyun. It had been right after he’d gotten out of the army and he’d been in the best shape of his life. He’d been so proud that he’d almost had _abs_ for a little while.

Now he’s got a shelf, he thinks, patting the jut of his belly.

Oh well. Nothing he can do but grin and bear it. He takes a deep breath and opens the door.

They’re all gathered in the back room – everyone is here. They’re sitting around a table laden with food and soju and beer, laughing and talking so that they don’t notice him at first.

“Oh sure,” he says, a little loudly. “Ignore poor old Himchan hyung.”

Everyone looks at him, and there’s a moment of silence, an awful moment where HImchan almost wonders if they don’t recognize him (so fat his best friends don’t even recognize him!) but then the moment passes and they’re all on their feet, patting him on the back and pulling him into hugs. He rubs a hand on Youngjae and Daehyun’s short cropped hair.

“Nice ears,” he says to Daehyun.

Daehyun groans. “My squad calls me Dumbo.”

Himchan slides into his place next to Yongguk. It’s a little bit harder now, a little bit of a tighter fit, but he manages okay. Yongguk smiles at him and Himchan feels a lot better. 

Youngjae and Daehyun get caught up trying to get Junhong to tell them who he’s dating, and when their attention is elsewhere, Yongguk leans over and says, “Are you okay?”

Himchan frowns. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Yongguk’s expression is deadpan. “You didn’t return any of my calls for weeks.”

Himchan frowns. “Um. I was kind of depressed, I guess.”

It’s true, he realizes, although he hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself.

“But you’re okay?”

Other than putting on fifteen kilos and turning into a fatso? “I’m fine,” he says. “Really. I’m sorry, Bbang. I won’t ignore you any more.”

Yongguk grins. “Good,” he says quietly. 

His weight, surprisingly, doesn’t come up until much later in the evening. They’re all a little tipsy by now, having moved on from the restaurant to a noraebang, and Himchan is getting slowly to his feet to do a duet with Jongup. Daehyung, who is pretty drunk, takes a bad step, and falls right into Himchan. He almost knocks HImchan off his feet. Himchan grunts and barely manages to stay upright. Daehyun clings, one hand resting low on Himchan’s belly, on the softest, jiggliest roll of fat. 

“Damn hyung,” Daehyun says. He gives Himchan’s belly an affectionate squeeze. “You really have given up on the idol life, haven’t you? You’re huge.”

Himchan’s cheeks go scarlet. “I’m going to leave the singing and dancing to you whippersnappers,” he says calmly, even though he feels like he could crumple up and disappear from embarrassment. “I’m taking on pursuits more appropriate to a man approaching middle years.”

“Daehyun,” Youngjae says, sharply. He’s always been a little too observant for Himchan’s tastes. “Get over here. You said you were going to sing ‘Gee’ and do the choreo. There’s no way you still remember the dance.” 

This time, though, Himchan is glad for the out. He closes his eyes and reaches for his glass.

Much later still, so late it’s nearly morning, they are out on the streets. Jongup and Yongguk are gone. They left early, because they’re the smartest ones. Daehyun is throwing up in a gutter, leaning on Junhong for support. Himchan has his hands shoved in his pocket. Youngjae is watching him quietly. There’s another sounds of explosive vomiting, and Himchan takes a step away. He really likes these shoes.

“Sorry about Daehyun before,” Youngjae says quietly, without looking up. It’s funny, but he still looks just as young as ever, even with the shaved head.

“Huh?” Himchan asks. He’s not really that drunk, but he feels a little muddled. 

“Daehyun,” Youngjae says. “He shouldn’t have said anything about your weight. He doesn’t … he doesn’t get it though.” He smiles, a little sadly. “He’s always been kind of a dick about that stuff, hasn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Himchan says slowly. There were moments, over the years, when Daehyun said something about his weight that stung, sharp and cruel. Himchan had laughed those comments off, because what choice did he have? 

“He doesn’t know how much work it is, how exhausting it gets,” Youngjae says, tiredly, and Himchan remembers Youngjae at eighteen, when they’d just debuted and he’d been just a little bit soft with baby fat. He remembers how embarrassed Youngjae had been when the press had snapped a few pictures of his barely soft stomach, and how diligently he’d worked to lose weight. Youngjae, Himchan thinks, knows exactly how exhausting it is to count every calorie you put into your mouth. He is suddenly intensely sad, for both of them. 

“Anyway,” Youngjae says. “I’m glad you’re taking it a bit easier now. You look good.”

Himchan rolls his eyes, “I look …”

“You look good, seriously,” Youngjae says. He brushes his hand over his hair, over the patch on top where it’s getting a little thin. “Are you happy?”

Himchan shrugs. “I’m working on it,” he says, slowly. “I’m trying.”

Youngjae smiles at him, and he’s about to say something else, but there’s a howl behind them as Junhong steps back quickly from Daehyun. There’s vomit splattering his shoes. Daehyun goes down heavy onto his knees.

“Oh god,” Youngjae says. “You go get Junhong and keep him from killing Daehyun. I’ll try to get Daehyun home.” 

And for a little while, the fact that Himchan’s carrying twenty extra kilos doesn’t matter at all. It’s almost like the good old days. It’s almost like nothing has changed – nothing important, anyway.

He wakes up early the next morning with a terrible hangover. He hauls himself out of bed, takes two aspirin, and lies down on the couch. When he wakes again it’s two in the afternoon and he feels much better. He feels better, in fact, than he has in months. It was really, really good to see the guys. His heart feels whole again. 

He’s also starving. He makes himself three fried eggs and heats up some frozen hash browns. He makes a nice little pile of buttery toast while the eggs cook. He makes a cup of instant coffee and sits down to eat his breakfast at his kitchen table. He takes his time, wanting to make sure he doesn’t overdo it, but this is nothing he can’t handle. When his plate is clean, he sits back with one hand resting on his belly, feeling totally, utterly content.

After he showers and dresses in some of the nice new clothes he’s bought, he actually works up the nerve to call his manager and beg forgiveness. After a well deserved reaming out, his manager tells him that he’s had a few offers come in for new projects.

Himchan clears his throat. “Hyung,” he says. “Listen … I’ve um. I’ve put on a little more weight.”

His manager makes a tired sound. “Okay,” he says. “We can get you a personal trainer again. We can …”

“No,” Himchan says. “I don’t want to do that. I’m … I’m okay with it. I’m just letting you know.”

“Oh,” his manager says, seemingly at a loss.

HImchan clears his throat. “Tell me about these new opportunities.”

Four weeks later, Himchan is signing a contract to be a member of a new MBC variety show focusing on the traditional arts. He’s also, reluctantly, agreed to start going to the gym, but the joke’s on his company. He goes three times a week like they ask but he mostly does strength exercises, capped off by a leisurely walk in the treadmill. Getting a little exercise is a good thing, he thinks, but this routine isn’t going to slim him back down anytime soon. Not with the way he’s been eating. 

He’s put on a few more kilos, in fact. He’s tried to cut out the worst of his binging. He’s not eating two pizzas a night any more, and isn’t pigging out on fried chicken, but he’s Kim Himchan and he’s still got a very healthy appetite and a real weakness for sweets. At the development meetings for the new show, there’s always a table of pastries and fruit, and Himchan makes sure to fix himself a nice plate before he sits down. He hasn't switched back to iced coffee -- his default Starbucks order is still a Venti Mocha with full fat milk and extra whipped cream. It just tastes better. He's not going back to those salad days of boiled chicken breast and soybean paste soup. He's just not going to do it.

All the nice new clothes he got start to get a little tight, though. The pants start pulling around the waist. The sleeves of the shirts start to squeeze his pillowy upper arms. Even the sweaters start to get a little tight, clinging to the curve of his belly, not doing nearly so much to disguise it.

He's not sure it can be disguised, at this point. He's getting _big_. His scale is shoved under the counter in the bathroom -- out of sight, out of mind. He's trying to stop worrying about the numbers, but he can tell from the way his belly looks so huge that he's passing definitively out of the realm of chubby and into the kingdom of fat.

Kim Himchan is a fat man.

It's funny, but those words don't burn quite the way they once would have.

It's even funnier that nobody else seems to care quite as much as he thought they would.

Strangest of all, he's actually had a few people flirt with him. He's not sure, because Himchan's never been the best at noticing that kind of thing. He can turn on the charm when he wants, but he assumes all attention directed his way is mocking. Still, he'd gone out with some of the staff of the variety show to a bar a few weeks back and there had been a woman there -- his age, attractive, very well dressed -- who had talked to him all night. She'd been friendly and engaging and coy, and he'd been nearly convinced she'd been flirting with him.

He hadn't been positive, though, so he hadn't asked for her number. He almost regrets that, except every time he thinks of dating someone his thoughts inevitably drift back to Siyong.

He hadn't realized in their brief time together how much he'd come to care for her. She's the second lead in a new drama, and every time he sees an ad for it he's struck at how beautiful she is. Her beauty is barely the smallest part of what he misses though. It had been so easy to be with her, once he'd gotten past her initial shy demeanor. She was easygoing and kind, and she had a great sense of humor. He'd love just sitting in her kitchen chatting while she whipped up something delicious and sweet.

He regrets now how unwillingly he'd always sampled her baking. It's just one of so many regrets he has when he thinks about Su Siyong.

But, like Himchan's thirty-inch waist, some things are gone and won't ever come back.

In the fall of that year, after the first season of the variety show has ended to general acclaim, Himchan is invited to the wedding of an acquaintance-- it's not someone he knows well, just one of those people he'd run into here and there over the years. The wedding invitation is a generous gesture, and although he has a pang about the +1 on the invitation, he decides to go.

The day he mails in his response, he steps on the scale for the first time in almost half a year. He’s going to need to buy a new suit. He's pretty sure that the nice navy suit he bought in the summer isn't going to fit any more. He knows he's put on more weight. He's big enough now that he can't find anything at all that will fit him in a standard size store. Even XLs are comically small. He goes to specialty shops catering to larger men -- fat guy stores.

It doesn't bother him as much as it should.

There have been a few articles about his weight gain, and he's read them, but all the sting has gone out of it. He feels good. He feels better now than he has in years. He's even gotten more serious about strength training at the gym, so at least a little of his new bulk is probably muscle. He knows people whisper when he eats as much as the other, skinnier cast members, but why shouldn't he?

He realizes now, finally, what Su-su had meant about not hating himself.

There's a strange, residual moment of terror when he stands in front of his old nemesis the scale. He's spent so many years terrified of what it would reveal: every kilo gained was a personal failing, every kilo lost was just a temporary victory against an overwhelming tide.

He thinks he's over that, but twenty odd years of self-loathing aren't all that easy to shrug off.

He takes a step forward onto the scale, eyes closed. He waits, almost trembling with nerves, while it registers his weight. He opens an eye and looks down but all he can see is the pale hemisphere of his belly. He leans forward.

114.2 kilos.

He feels hot and cold all at once. 114.2 kilos. The number sounds so _big_. Huge, honestly.

The realization that he's not _upset_ is even more shocking than the number itself.

He can't quite define how he feels, honestly, but that awful icky shame feeling in the pit of his stomach is absent. He knows that one well; he lived with it long enough. He feels surprised, definitely. Even though he knew he'd been gaining weight, 114.2 kilos is still a lot. Even more shocking is the thought that in the last year he's put on almost 50 kilos in the last year.

When he thinks about that, he doesn't feel bad at all. Instead he feels almost ... proud?

Yes, proud is the right word, although it still sits a little uneasily. There is something kind of impressive about the enormous bulge of his belly, maybe. If you look at it in the right light. There's definitely something impressive about how much he can eat. It's not like everyone can toss back a pizza like it's nothing. There's something wonderful, certainly, about how much he enjoys eating.

A month or so later, just before Christmas, Himchan shows up at the Shilla Hotel feeling pretty good about himself. He's wearing a new suit, custom-made, that fits him like a glove. (The tailor he works with had thoughtfully added a few centimeters to his initial measurements, allowing for some extra indulgence leading up to the holidays. Himchan hasn't weighed himself recently, but he's more than filling out the 120cm waist pants.) He gets out of his car and hands his keys to the valet. In the glossy plate glass exterior of the hotel, he takes stock of what he sees: a large man, certainly, but well dressed, and with a charming smile. He straightens his lapels, and brushes a stray hair back into place.

It's a lovely evening. Himchan has a great time. The couple is deeply in love, and their joy is infectious. The food is excellent, and provided in such ample quantities that even Himchan eats his fill (or comes close, at least). There's an excellent band playing good music. Opulent displays of flowers cover every horizontal surface, and many of the vertical ones. He catches up with some old friends he hasn't seen in years. Not one of them mentions his weight.

Still, by the end of the evening, Himchan is feeling melancholy. Not sad, exactly, but just a little sorrowful to think that in the midst of all this happiness he's alone, and there are no prospects of that changing anytime soon. He drains his glass of cabernet and gets up to get another. Rather than return to the table he takes a seat at the bar. It's more of an effort than it used to be to haul himself onto the bar stool, but there's a lot more of him to haul.

He's nursing his wine when someone sits down beside him. The bar is pretty full, so it's not surprising. He glances over. It's a woman, looking away from him down the bar, towards the front of the room. Her generous curves are poured into a sleeveless pink dress, and her blonde hair is tucked up into an elegant knot. There's something familiar about the way she's sitting, with one leg curled around the other. He's seen that before. It's so familiar. It's ...

"Su-su?"

She turns around, surprised, and he can see the confusion in her eyes. If it had taken her a moment to recognize him the last time they met, now the reaction is even more delayed. He understands why. He looks much different. Much _fatter_.

"Himchan?" Her eyes are wide.

"Hello," he says, and he smiles.

"Himchan. Hi.” She turns towards him, eyes wide with suprise. 

"You look lovely," he says, because it's truth. She looks more beautiful than he's ever seen her.

"Thank you," she says, smiling. "You look ..."

He forces the smile to stay on his face. "Fat," he says. "I know. You can say it."

She narrows her eyes. "I was going to say happy," she says.

He thinks about that for a moment. "I am happy," he says. "Happier than I've been in a long time. Fat, too, though." He smiles wryly.

Su-su sits back. She looks confused. "What happened? Are you okay? Are you..."

"I'm fine," Himchan says. "Really. It was rough going for a little while there, but I'm in a much better place now."

"I'm glad," she says cautiously. “You do look like you’ve 

He is struck suddenly at how badly he must have hurt her. He knew it, but he can feel it now. He'd been _ashamed of her_ and more ashamed of himself, and all that shame had been a twisted, evil thing that had ruined any chance they had of being happy together. He’d been so unhappy with himself, he doesn’t think he could have been happy with anyone. 

The bartender comes with Siyong’s drink, and she moves as if to stand up. Himchan realizes that if she does, this is it. They'll never be anything to each other again. And maybe that would be what he deserves, but he wants to apologize before she goes in case he doesn't get another chance.

"Hey," he says, resting a hand on her arm to pause her.

She turns back towards him, eyes hard.

"I just want to apologize again," he says. "Su-su, I'm so sorry."

He can see in her face all the years of effort she's spent fighting against a society and a world that told her she's _wrong_ just for being her.

"It's fine, Himchan," she says. "I appreciate it, honestly, but I've ..."

"No," he says. "It's not fine. I didn't realize." He shakes his head. "I didn't realize how much I _hated_ myself. I spent such a long time worrying that someone might call me fat I never stopped to wonder why I was scared of it to begin with. I didn't realize how brave you were for just deciding to be _you_ , and not ashamed of it." He clears his throat. "So, I'm sorry, Su-su. I know there's nothing I can do to make up for it, but I want you to know."

Something in her face crumples, and she sits back down. "Oh, Himchan," she says. "It's okay. Really." She sighs. "I know it's hard. I mean ..." She closes her eyes. "I try so hard, but you know what they told me when I got the part in 'Moonlight Girl'?

This was the drama she'd just completed. It had been a relatively big hit, and Himchan had been glad for her.

"They said they wanted a chubby girl, but they told me not to gain any more weight. 'Chubby, but not really chubby.' That's what they said."

Himchan frowns. "What did you tell them?"

She shrugs. "Nothing," she says. "I needed the work."

He nods, slowly. He gets it. He really gets it. It's taken him until his thirties to even think of defying conventional stick-thin wisdom, and he knows it must be ten time as bad for her as a woman. Sometimes, the fight isn’t worth the cost. Sometimes, though, it is. 

Himchan feels his cheeks growing red. "I knew I was an idiot for losing you, but I didn't realize how amazing you were, Su-su. You're a hundred times braver than I am."

Siyong stares down at her hands folded in her lap. She takes a deep breath, and then looks up. Her eyes are bright. "Maybe ... Maybe we could get dinner sometime? Start over?"

He smiles so wide he feels like his cheeks are going to split, and he doesn't even worry about how chubby it makes his face look. "You still want to? In spite of ... all this?" He pats his fat gut. He’s not the guy she started dating almost a year ago -- he doesn’t look like that guy, at least.

She flushes even redder. "I think you look good," she says. "Really. It suits you."

He laughs, a little embarrassed, but also so happy. Happier than he can remember being in forever. "I kind of like it," he says. "It's a lot easier, eating what I want."

She giggles and nods. "I'm glad I'm done with the drama." She pats her own soft belly. "It's so nice not to worry. I've actually been thinking of getting another slice of that cake."

Himchan nods. It had been excellent cake -- soft and spongy, with a thick layer of custard in between and sugared fruit on top.

"I think that sounds like an excellent idea," he says. He gets to his feet, and offers her his hand. "Shall we?"

She takes it. Hand in hand, they set off to find their cake.


End file.
